An Open Letter To My CatPosted: March 30, 2015
You’ve been living with us for a few months. As you may know, this is the only time I’ve ever lived with a cat. The closest that I came to living with a cat before my wife and I adopted you was when I dated a girl who owned a cat when I was in college. Even though I didn’t live with that cat, he somehow found the opportunity and motivation to urinate on me.
Now, to be fair, that cat and I never really saw eye to eye. I get along with most people and animals. But as I think about those with whom I’ve shared a mutual dislike, I have to say that was the only situation where urine came in to play. That didn’t bode well for you and I getting along.
But we do get along, don’t we? I’d say that we do. I’ll admit that I like you more than I expected to when my wife brought up the idea of you moving in. Perhaps you feel the same; it’s hard to tell from the way you stare at me.
And that stare is the start of the things that I need to talk with you about. Staring is really uncool. It just shows bad manners and thus reflects poorly on your upbringing. You’re better than that and I’d like it if you’d stop staring at me. I’m not intimidated and you haven’t won a stare-down with me yet. I’d like you to consider not doing that anymore.
I am somewhat intimidated by whatever it is that you do after we go to bed. The sounds of you moving things around in the dark are confusing. It’s hard to tell exactly what you’re up to. When I turn on the lights you act like you’re not up to anything. I’m reassured that I don’t see you using any power tools and that all the knives are accounted for, but I’d appreciate it if you confined any construction projects you’re involved in to daylight hours.
Ahh, daylight hours. There’s another issue we should discuss. No one in this house except you wants to play at three a.m.. Bopping me in the face or getting in a fight with my sleeping wife’s arm doesn’t change that we like to sleep in the dark. That’s the way it is. Harsh? Sure. We buy the food and keep the heat on for you, we get to decide when we sleep.
And when we do get out of bed, zigzagging in front of our feet as we walk isn’t funny, it is dangerous. I am literally more than a dozen times your size. Trust me on that. I’m not one of those people who says the word literally when what I mean is figuratively. I am that much bigger than you. If I fall on you, it will be bad for the both of us. Knock it off.
Lastly, but no less importantly, we should discuss toilet habits. I like my privacy when I answer the call of nature. Your habit of pushing the door open and strolling in to the bathroom while I’m in there is decidedly not cool. I’ve been toilet trained for well over half a century and don’t need your judgmental stare while I’m sitting on the john.
What makes that situation worse is the, pardon the choice of words here, the shitty look I get when I happen to walk up on you in your litter box. It isn’t my fault that you choose to handle your business in a box in the hall. The fact is, I’m not nearly as curious about what you do in that department as you seem to be about what I do. But the sad fact is that until you do something like pick up a newspaper and head down the hall, I have no way to know that you’re going to be in your litter box until I walk up on you – at which time you give me the look I referred to earlier.
As I said at the beginning, I do enjoy having you in our home. You’re a good guy. But all relationships require addressing problems. I hope that you’ll consider this not so much as criticism, but as building a stronger rapport.